Bloody Mary’s aren’t just for breakfast anymore!

On Saturday my husband was setting up to bake his famous Chocolate Fantasy Cake for our neighborhood block party and unfortunately this required him to enter the “Cabinet Of Death”. Everything in this deep island cabinet is balanced on either a lime juicer or a spaghetti strainer (it’s my hidden talent). I have lazily rigged more booby traps than a Raiders of the Lost Ark movie, minus the snakes and human skulls but probably with just as many spiders.

I could hear pans crashing to the floor, curses flying, and the occasional passive aggressive comment about my housekeeping skills (mostly unfounded). I was trying to ignore it but it got to me. Damn it. But I had to admit that cleaning out that cabinet would feel good…I love throwing things out, though mostly other people’s things.

I shut the computer and carefully emptied the whole mess on to the floor. After sorting through everything it occurred to me that in order to put things back in an organized manner I’d have to clean out Cabinet Of Death #2 (we have 3 of them). It became a scary domino effect. You see, COD2 is even taller and deeper than COD1, so this was not a task to be taken lightly. In fact, Brian suggested that I clear my schedule and double check out our insurance deductible before beginning. I love a challenge, this was gonna get done!

Going through the cabinet was like going back in time. The front of the shelves held things that we currently use but the farther back I went the more memories I found. There was pea puree baby food that I think might be from our first child (he’s 8 now), biscotti I bought for a very special Easter brunch 2 years ago (I kept this- biscotti feels hard and stale no matter when you eat it), a broken Thomas the Train Christmas ornament that I meant to glue 4 years ago, and more, much more. But my most treasured find was a little red box that contained my grandmother’s favorite recipes. I opened it up and saw a variety of cookie cutters and a handful of recipes that I couldn’t wait to read. Notice I didn’t say “couldn’t wait to cook”. I don’t often cook.  It’s not that I can’t, it’s just that cooking is a huge time and cleaning investment with little return. We eat out a lot.

Anyway, when I read the top recipe I thought to myself, “Now this I can make!”. I’m going to share this fabulous recipe with you now…

Recipe: Cherry Tomatoes (vague, I know)

Ingredients:

cherry tomatoes

vodka

kosher salt

(that’s it!)

I was excited because I had most of the ingredients except the tomatoes and kosher salt unless I substituted with limes and margarita salt.

Steps:

1. Blanch tomatoes, put in cold water and skin them (sounds like bitch to do, aka time consuming)

2. Chill vodka (already done Granny)

3. Soak tomatoes in vodka then dip in kosher salt

4. Voila, lick your fingers and ask for I.D. before serving.(ok, I added that).

The best part of the recipe is the last line “These are used as hors d’oeuvres”. Without that clarification I can understand how one might confuse these with a cocktail. Oh, and if you’re having guests over for the first time, make sure to light your breath on fire after each one- it’s quite impressive and they’ll be talking about it for weeks!

My grandmom must have had some kick ass Bridge nights!

In case you think I’m making it up, here’s a pic. Notice that the top of the card says “Favorite Recipe”. Mine too!

*By the way, I was totally kidding about keeping the biscotti.  If you ever eat it at my house it’s fresh…but you prob couldn’t tell the difference anyway.

Do NOT serve these at an AA meeting.

The word “poop” is used no less than 72 times. sorry.

Ana is, dare I say it…finally potty trained (mostly). She’s a stubborn and apparently lazy child who simply prefers the ability to pee or poop while finger painting. I can’t blame her though, as you know I appreciate any idea that allows one to multitask. Honestly, I’d be tempted to wear Depends if they didn’t create such a puffy panty line under my all day/everyday yoga pants.

The one issue we’re still having is getting Ana to initiate a poop in the potty. She’ll hold it and hold it until we threaten to throw her bunny blanket away. Of course we wouldn’t really throw it away, we’d just kinda hang it out of the window calling her bluff- like the squirrel incident. It mostly works.

Well we went out to dinner and I noticed that Ana was looking very uncomfortable, holding her butt with one hand and coloring with the other. I suggested that she might want to use the bathroom but she refused claiming that she didn’t have to go. Now if these last few years have taught me anything it’s that children lie.

Me- Oh darn, I was hoping you would poop so we could buy a ‘congratulations for pooping’ gift.

Collin- Hey! I’ve been pooping in the toilet for years and I don’t get any gifts.

Me- Ok Collin, tell you what…go to school tomorrow and crap your pants then come home and use the potty. Afterwards we’ll go out and get you a present to celebrate. Deal?

Collin- No way, that’s disgusting.

Me- That’s right. You see, not being embarrassed by publicly crapping your pants is a little gift you give yourself everyday. (pat on the back) Way to go!

Now at the mention of a present, Ana decides to try to poop in the restaurant bathroom after all. And after 8 grueling trips back and fourth, she finally has success. She then decided  to share her good fortune by running out of the restroom yelling “Daddy, Daddy, I did it! I pooped and it was a BIG one!” her arms stretched open to express its enormity. Diners eating the meatloaf pushed their plates away.

Afterwards we headed over to a book store to buy her a poopy prize (Yes, my children love books and they still consider buying one as a reward…it’s one of the few areas where I think I did something right).

She looks through all of the wonderful choices, makes some grabs, and comes back to me with 8 books.

Me- Ana, I said 1 book, not 8. You need to make a choice. Which one is your favorite?

Ana- But mom…(flabbergasted) it was a BIG poop so I need more books!

This is where our miscommunication becomes evident. See I thought this whole reward system was based on a flat poop rate but apparently she was charging by the ounce. Clearly negotiations had begun.

Me- ok fine, I’m going to put a value on your poop of $3.99, that’s 1 book.

Ana- No, I need 8 books.

Me- You think your poop is worth $32? Were gold nuggets glistening in it? Or is it so rare that people around the world would pay to view it? Or maybe it contains a unique enzyme that, when carefully harvested, can cure male pattern baldness? Tell me.

Ana- Yes yes yes and yes. (remember, children lie)

Me- No, none of the above. And its not worth $32, unless you can promise me that I’ll find diamonds inside.

Ana- You will. (lies, all lies)

But you know, I thought, she’s been holding that poop so damn long that maybe there are some diamonds in it. So I bought 8 books and considered it an investment.

“My poop is priceless”

 

Don’t Feed the Animals Like A Perv

As seen at the State Fair.

Quite frankly, I think the sign is counter-productive because I never considered feeding a giraffe with my mouth until after I read it. Then it was all I could think about. It’s like telling someone, “Whatever you do, don’t, and I mean don’t, put your tongue in that electrical socket.”  It makes you automatically say to yourself, ‘hmm…I wonder if my tongue would even fit in that socket? Only one way to find out’.

But when I sat back and thought about it, there must have been a boatload of people feeding the animals with their mouths before they made the sign, or why even make it?Besides, if it were a rare occurrence, a cheap cardboard sign written in sharpie would suffice- don’t you think? No, they spent good money on a professionally made metal sign.

Oddly though, this sage advice was only posted in front of the giraffe cage.  I wondered what was so seductive about the giraffe that he was the only animal needing protection from the weirdos.  So I sat and watched him with new eyes. Have you ever seen a giraffe take food from your hand?  Its tongue comes out of its mouth by like 8 inches, slowly wraps around the leaf, and gingerly takes the food out of your hand and into it’s dainty mouth.  If I had to guess (and I’m not suggesting I thought about doing this)  I would say these pervs were thinking something like “I could totally get a picture of me french kissing this awesome giraffe and email it to my friends. They would crap their pants!”  Sadly, they probably regretted this later when suggestions of beastiality came up during employment background checks.

Now if the State Fair’s use of this sign was to protect the people from injury, I would say that it was wasted on the giraffe. After spending considerable time with him, I can tell he would make a gentle and careful lover. Shoot, you could probably get to second base with him if you had longer arms.  No, what they would really need to do is move this sign to the damn ostrich cage, that son of a bitch will peck your eyes out before you even have a chance to pucker up.

TMI post- but I don’t use the word “pubic”. Oops, I just did.

I’m warning you, this post may cause you to think less of me…of course, that’s assuming you normally hold me in high regard. If that happens, 1. High regard? Really? and 2. stop reading and pull out every birthday card, xmas card, or get well card I’ve ever sent you.  Surely I wrote something beautiful, capable of countering any images this post creates.

Or just come back to this cute puppy….

Stare at him until all the bad images go away.

Now my post…

Now that bikini waxing season is coming to a close and leg hair maintenance has slowed down, I find I have a lot more time on my hands. Frankly I’m kind of relieved as weeding both my yard and my body was getting rather exhausting. Every summer I experiment with quicker and easier ways to eradicate body hair. Sometimes I do the waxing thing and sometimes I just use the cheap pink razor that I swear is made by Mattel.  But in the end I always come back to good ol’ Nair.

For those of you not “in the know”, Nair is a wonderful, deadly chemical that melts away body hair in 10 minutes and can burn a hole in the ozone layer in 5 minutes (so you know it works). I love it! The instructions say to put it on your hairy parts for a maximum of 6 minutes but I treat that as more of a suggestion than a warning. Chemical burns are hardly noticeable when you have an awesome tan.  So I spend a full 15 minutes naked, cold, covered in white cream, avoiding all furniture, and doing squats. Hey- if I have 15 naked minutes to kill, it’s either have a drink or do squats. And unfortunately I found that the active ingredient Potassium Thioglycolate  interferes with the bouquet of my wine. By the way, I highly recommend you lock the bathroom door while doing this otherwise you might burn your kids’ eyes out…and I ain’t talking from the fumes.

Want to see a pic of me getting my Nair on? click here.

Also, it’s important that you remain upright while you’re waiting for the Nair to work on your bikini area. I once dropped something on the bathroom floor, bent down to retrieve it, and when I rinsed off I was bald in certain areas and had what looked like crop circles in others. And because I really like you, I’m going to tell you something that many women will not admit or share…when you’re bare down there (are you ready for this?)…your pee goes everywhere! It’s so disgustingly true. I realize some women like to line the toilets with toilet paper, however, I prefer to hover in public restrooms but (make a note here) you CANNOT hover with a Brazilian (or even a Nair-Brazilian knock off). A ship needs a rudder if you know what I mean. Show me a pee splattered toilet and I’ll show you a “bald down there” girl.

I can’t even imagine getting a Brazilian. Having someone so up close and personal and who probably doesn’t want to be there in the first place is embarrassing (hopefully not like any of my past dates). How would I schedule it anyway? First thing in the morning?  I don’t even go to the dentist without brushing and flossing in their lobby restroom first. So how would I feel comfortable getting a Brazilian when I can’t shower at least 2 minutes beforehand?  I guess I could shove a couple Altoids up there before leaving the house. Though I’d have to remember to pee first because those Altoids feel like cold flames from hell when I drink water. You know what, I’ve got until next year to worry about this stuff.

My original point: Fall is here ladies, relax, enjoy the long pants, and let your hair down.

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